


Five Ways To Court A Malfoy (And The One That Actually Works)

by FangQueen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Botched Proposals, Established Relationship, Fluff, HP: EWE, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Past Non-Monogamy, commitment issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-23 09:50:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9650336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangQueen/pseuds/FangQueen
Summary: There he was, staring up at this gorgeous creature that had somehow, despite all their differences, deemed to share a bed with him on and off for all these years, and it just...clicked. He suddenly felt a complete fool. How had he not seen it before?





	1. Know Your Malfoy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2017 [Ron/Draco Fest](http://ron-draco-fest.livejournal.com/28585.html)\--which anyone who knows me could easily guess is my favorite time of the year. ;) It was based on the following prompt by countrymir:
> 
>  **Prompt:** Ron and Draco have been casually seeing each other for years, never having the title of being in a relationship. Ron decides they're the equivalent of a married couple anyway and decides they might as well. Cue Ron courting Draco with all of the pureblood traditions and rituals.  
>  **Rating Preferred:** Any  
>  **Do you have a media preference?:** Any  
>  **Other Comments:** A mixture of both normal/sweet and outlandish courtships would be ideal; like presenting family heirlooms, performing certain tasks in public to state intent and then asking for like unbreakable vows to protect heirs at all costs, exchanging blood, etc.
> 
> I know this “fives things” style has been done a lot, but I just couldn't resist when it came to this prompt. To my prompter: Thank you for such a wonderful starting off point! This is probably one of my favorite fics I’ve ever written now, and I had so much fun with it. I hope you enjoy it just as much! <3

When one finds the person for them--the person they want to spend the rest of their life with--they just _know_. Ron had heard the phrase in several different ways, but every time with the same basic concept behind it. Over the years, he’d watched his siblings and friends alike fall in love, get married, even start having children, for some of them. And in all that time, he’d never felt confident in saying that that was something he understood. He’d liked the various men and women he’d dated well enough, but none so much so that he’d be willing to legally bind himself to them for all eternity.

However, there had always been one that he just couldn’t seem to get away from…

It was an unseasonably warm day in early November when he finally realized it. The rather gentle sensation of the mattress shifting beneath him forced him awake, blinking the sleep from his eyes. A calming patchwork of light and shadow crept across the room to illuminate the pale skin of his partner as he swung his legs over his side of the bed. The alabaster beauty stretched his spindly arms over his head, arching and twisting out a crick in his neck as he did so. Ron scanned the lines of his back, from the slight curve at the base up to the platinum tendrils at the nape of his neck, a small smile spreading across his lips. Memories of the previous night flooded into his brain and made him want to reach up and pull his lover back down under the covers.

There he was, staring up at this gorgeous creature that had somehow, despite all their differences, deemed to share a bed with him on and off for all these years, and it just...clicked. He suddenly felt a complete fool. How had he not seen it before?

A moment later, and the blonde was slipping quietly out of the gray, flannel sheet still wrapped around his legs and tiptoeing past the trail they’d made of their clothing the previous night. That nice flash of perfect arse stirred Ron further, and soon he, too, was sitting up and slowly working out the stiffness in his joints. He glanced at the rumpled, unoccupied space on the bed beside him, then back up at the door left slightly ajar. His head felt light, giddy, and he couldn’t make this smile go away. Was this really what it felt like, when it happened?

When Ron joined him downstairs, Draco was helping himself to coffee. It had been a riot watching him use the contraption that made it for the first time; he’d nearly scalded himself, having hit the start button without placing the pot under the spout. Not that Ron had been much better at it, but at least no one else had been around at the time to witness his shame. Harry and Hermione had been trying for quite some time to “usher him into the modern era,” as they referred to it, by convincing him that incorporating various Muggle devices into his daily life would only improve its quality. Much as he didn’t like to say so, they had a point. Nonetheless, Draco had actually spent longer than Ron had thought he would turning his nose up at the whole business, insisting he “de-Muggle” his household before he would set foot in it again, but he’d come around. Eventually. It wasn’t so much a prejudice, Ron had discovered, as it was a discomfort from lack of familiarity. Though it didn’t prevent Draco from griping about it as often as possible.

Ron couldn’t really be bothered about the coffee, however, when he had something a thousand times better to focus on: that being the nude Slytherin drinking it. Bit by bit, Ron had grown to realize something about this man: that, for all his faults, Draco Malfoy was actually...pretty stunning. And not just in the looks department--although that was certainly a plus, and, admittedly, the first thing he’d been drawn to. It was those moments when he let that iron-clad wall of his crumble, when he allowed Ron to see past his usual front. He was still a git, by most standards, and there were still some acquaintances he’d probably never see eye-to-eye with, but he was actively trying, all the time, and Ron had decided awhile ago that he had to give him credit where credit was due. Contrary to the former Gryffindor’s opinion of him in their school days, he actually was a very hard worker, driven to do things on his own for more than just the pride of saying he had. He was caring in his own way--in a subtle, private way that Ron was pretty sure only a handful had ever had the pleasure of receiving. He gave absolutely _fantastic_ head. When Ron had decided to leave the DMLE a couple years back, to join his elder brother in the joke shop industry, Draco had been there for him--had, in fact, been one of few who didn’t bother to tell him he might be making a mistake. (Although, he’d always suspected that was mostly because Malfoys would never be one to deny a good business opportunity when they saw one.) Hell, when Ron had bought this very house, who’d been one of the people there to help him move in? Not that Draco had done any heavy-lifting himself, of course, but his levitation charmwork was immaculate, and it was really the thought that counted anyway.

Since when did Ron know him so well? Well, it made sense, after all this time, but he’d just...never really thought about it before. But now, as he was leaning his elbows on the kitchen island, grinning back at Draco when he noticed him there--and that he’d _also_ remained naked--he realized that this was, in fact, what he’d always been looking for. This was it. He wouldn’t trade what he had with this man for anything else.

“How long have we been doing this?”

Draco answered him with a raised eyebrow and a condescending expression. Most wouldn't have noticed the millisecond beforehand where his hand had twitched on the handle of his mug, his cheeks flaring pink. “Doing what?”

“Come off it, you know what.”

Smirking a little, Draco set his coffee aside and crossed to him. Ron straightened up, just as the other slipped his arms around his waist and leaned up to kiss him soundly. Classic Malfoy misdirection tactics.

They’d been doing this for several years, in fact. The whole thing had started with a random one-night-stand that neither regretted, but also didn’t want to _admit_ they didn’t regret it. Skip to six months later, and it happened again, only that time they didn’t stop. Not completely, anyway. They saw each other here and there, never with any Official Labels, and always with the firm (and often tacit) stance that they were _not in a relationship_. No one believed that, of course, except perhaps them, for a time anyway. How _could_ anyone believe it, when they started spending so much of their time together? Attending various events and friendly outings together? Even spending the holidays with each other’s families every other year or so? It got to a point where, whenever either of them was single and invited to a wedding, a party, a Ministry function, they'd take each other along just to avoid going stag. But Ron had never introduced Draco as his “boyfriend,” nor vice versa. They’d never talked about fidelity. Moving in together. _Getting married_ , for fuck’s sake. Actually, for the first few years, there _was_ no monogamy! They’d each entertained a bevy of suitors, always finding their way back to each other whenever things turned sour. Then Ron had finally decided he’d seen that dejected look on Draco’s face one too many times and had stopped doing that, too. Whether the other had as well, he’d never heard definitively, but he knew. He knew every time he’d looked into his eyes since that Draco was _his_ , even if the prideful snake steadfastly refused to say it aloud.

No matter how they’d spent most of it, that was a long time to be, well...sleeping with, and occasionally casually dating, one person. Ron imagined that, with everything they’d already gone through, there probably wouldn’t be anything that could possibly stop them from continuing to do just that. And at this point, with both of them having given up others quite awhile ago, the only thing that was made sense was that next step...But was this the moment? He wasn’t sure what that even meant. But there was Draco, looking up at him all heavy-lidded and rosy-lipped, remnants of sleep still evident in his mussed hair, and Ron thought he’d probably never find a more perfect opportunity for this. And as soon as the man gave him the answer he was looking for, he was going to toss him over his shoulder and carry him upstairs to “celebrate.” Or simply bend him over the island. Whichever came to mind first.

Ron shifted away from his partner’s searching lips, trying his best to ignore the hot press of his bare stomach and thighs for the moment. “I-I just…” _Bloody great, Ron, start with a stutter, that always goes over well_. “I mean to say...We’ve been doing this for awhile now, yeah?”

Draco sighed, although not unkindly. “I don’t know, I suppose so.”

“Yeah. And, well...I was just thinking...I was thinking that maybe, if you’d like to, we should--”

“Oh shit, is that time correct?”

“U-uh…” Ron followed Draco’s now distracted gaze to the clock on the wall behind him. “Yeah, why--?”

“I have a meeting, I...Fuck, I didn’t even realize what time it was! I’m sorry, I’ve gotta--” His warmth was leaving now, hurrying towards the hall and the stairs beyond. “I’ve gotta head home, to shower, to--or, wait, do I still have that suit here from...It’s clean, right? Yeah? Okay, then I’m just gonna--I’ll see you this weekend, okay?”

Alright. Apparently it wasn’t going to be that easy. That was fine. In hindsight, he should’ve known better, anyway; Malfoys _never_ made anything that easy. He’d just have to wait for a _more_ opportune moment--a nice dinner, maybe some candlelight and champagne, a little romance...Problem was: none of that sounded like him. None of that even sounded like their relationship at all! Draco would never buy it; he’d probably assume Hermione had helped him put it together, or something. He knew that Ron wasn’t the type to get all lovey-dovey like that; he’d never been good with emotions, neither of them ever had. And he was rather notorious for mucking up various romantic gestures. Not that Ron didn’t treat him well enough, but they’d always seemed to be more comfortable pushing each other’s buttons than--

An idea struck him. Maybe that was just it. Pushing each other’s buttons. He’d heard of all sorts of mad things wizards used to do to court their wife--or, in this case, husband-to-be. They were both purebloods, it only made sense. He could see Draco now: wearing that patented expression of his, a cross between irritated and amused. One of Ron’s favorites, it had a certain strange sex appeal, and he’d love nothing more than to kiss it away as he told him that it was all a joke, that the _real_ proposal was coming soon. Besides, they’d been giving each other shit for nearly their entire lives. It’d be a waste of an opportunity if he didn’t.


	2. Learn The Customs

“Need any help with that, Mum?”

The quiet of his parents’ kitchen was peaceful after leaving the living area. The house was full to bursting with the joyful sounds of _family_ \--adults chatting, laughing, the delighted shrieks of little Victoire and Freddie II as they chased each other around the couches. Sweet smells of home filled the air. Holidays at the Burrow. Things had changed somewhat now that the children were having children of their own, though. Normally, Ron enjoyed it anyway, but this Christmas was different. He’d been thinking for a few weeks now, and it had taken all day to finally get his mother alone in order to ask...

“Since when do you care about helping with the dishes?” Molly teased, playfully poking him in the ribs before flicking her wand to send a cascade of plates into the sink along with the silverware. “You’re fine, though, I just let them do their own thing when there’s this many of us.” To punctuate her statement, she cast another charm, turning on the faucet and setting the sponges to scrubbing everything clean.

“Oh…” Ron chuckled a little, trying to move past the awkwardness he was feeling. Of course, she was right, and he hadn’t really come in here for that, but when she then moved to gather the napkins and fold up the tablecloth, he hurried to assist her.

She peered at his face as they worked, mother’s intuition written all over her own as she took in his expression. “Do you need something, dear?”

“Well, I’ve just been meaning to ask…” This was something he didn’t exactly know how to say, even after having considered it so much recently. It was weird, certainly, and was probably going to give her all kinds of ideas he really didn’t want to deal with. But he hadn’t known who else to go to. Harry and Hermione were raised by Muggles, his siblings might’ve picked on him enough to turn him off of the plan entirely, and he’d never been the best researcher on his own. His parents might not know the history of it themselves, but he’d decided it was at least worth a shot. “How does a pureblood propose to another pureblood?”

She paused, as if startled. Then: “Well...I would imagine like anyone else does. You know, a ring, down on one knee, and all that.” Oh Merlin, he’d gone and done it; he could already see the pixies running amok in her head. It was his fault, after all, having appeared to love the life of a bachelor for as long as he had, then thrusting this little gem in front of her so audaciously. She’d given up on asking him when he was going to “settle down” a few years back, and he’d expected this question of his to come as quite the shock.

“No, no, I mean...The old way of doing it, you know? Traditionally.”

“The...old way?”

“Yeah. Like way back when.”

“Oh, that, well...I don’t know that I’d really know very much about it, love. I might’ve heard about it when I was young, but I...Well, now that I think about it, I think I _maybe_ remember reading something in one of those History of Magic textbooks--”

“Yeah?” A spark of hope lit in his chest. “You wouldn’t still have that, would you?”

“I kept most of our school things, so it’s possible--”

“Could we look for it later? I’d really be interested in reading it.”

She gave him a look like she’d never heard of something so absurd in her life: him _being interested_ in reading something. But she hadn’t asked him what this was about yet, and that was a blessing in itself. He didn’t know that he’d know how to explain it to her without her trying to convince him to do something more...well… _normal_.

“I could try to find it. How about I owl it to you if I do?”

“That would be great, Mum, thank you.”

“Of course.”

She draped the now folded cloth over her arm and took the bundle of napkins from his hands, heading towards the hall to take them out to the wash basin. Ron was pretty sure he’d just gotten away with this _surprisingly_ easier than he’d expected to, when she suddenly turned around and said quietly:

“Just one thing, though?”

“Yeah?”

“Well...this is just for research purposes, isn’t it? Just for, I don’t know, general knowledge, right?”

“Yeah, why?” he tried to reply nonchalantly.

“I’m just saying, if you were asking for...for _that_ reason--and I’m not saying you were, mind, I’m not saying you were! But… _if_ you were...could it be…? Would I _know_ this...person?” He felt the beginnings of a smile tug at one corner of his mouth as she stammered on, “I mean to say, would I...Oh, to hell with it: is it Draco, dear?”

There it was. His mother was a smart woman, he knew she’d figure it out; he’d just hoped that they wouldn’t have had to talk about it _right now_. On the one hand, if he told her, the whole of wizarding England (and maybe even parts of Scotland and Wales) would’ve heard about it by the time he woke up tomorrow. Not that Molly Weasley was all that terrible at keeping a secret, but he honestly didn’t think she’d be able to hold her tongue well enough on this one. Then again, on the other, he couldn’t very well leave her hanging like that, now could he? His heart hammered in his chest as he considered his answer. What would she say if he admitted it, really? Strangely enough, she’d never mentioned what she’d thought of their… _non-relationship_ before. She treated Draco with the same pleasantness she did anyone when he came ‘round. Better than Narcissa Malfoy treated _Ron_ , anyway--she didn’t exactly agree with their choice of “lifestyle.” But there was always that lingering fear for him, that perhaps his mother still blamed Draco for the actions of his parents…

“Yes,” he finally replied, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. It was the first time he’d said anything even related to it out loud, and he didn’t know if he liked how emotional it was making him feel, especially when he wasn’t sure of what her reaction was going to be.

A beat. Then his anxieties were immediately washed away as a radiant smile lit her face, and she exclaimed, “Oh good!”, before nervously glancing around her to make sure no one had snuck up on their conversation, then lowering her voice significantly, “I...That’s...Good, good, I’m glad to hear it.” She rushed back to give a quick peck on the cheek, before heading towards the back door once more, leaving him smiling softly to himself.

***

They were well into the new year when Ron finally began to put his Master Plan into motion. The book his mother had provided had actually offered him quite a bit of insight into the old traditions--each one more insane than the last--and there were several that had caught his attention immediately, so he’d figured...why not try them all? If the first one didn’t get the point across, he’d have plenty of backups. Go big or go home, right?

It was one of their typical Friday nights together, when it started. Ron was waiting for him on the couch, grinning when he was finally greeted to the sight of his well-dressed partner after the Floo sprang to life. Draco was wearing that slate gray suit he loved; an amazing color on his skin tone. But, frankly, for all the gentlemanly sexiness of his wardrobe, he looked a wreck.

Ron couldn’t exactly blame him; he remembered well what it was like, working for the Ministry. Although he suspected the Auror program was quite different...Injuries Draco had sustained during the war had, unfortunately, made it difficult for him to fly at such a competitive rate anymore. That news from the Healers had really crushed him for awhile, Ron knew that, but Malfoys always found a way. Draco had decided a few years back that those that couldn’t do, managed, apparently, and promptly applied for an entry position in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Initially, he’d feared he wouldn’t get it, because of his past. He’d ended up being pleasantly surprised. But no matter how much Draco loved Quidditch, loved his job because of it, he couldn’t always bring himself to love his coworkers.

He was on him in two quick strides of his long legs. Ron barely got out a “hello” before he was being first yanked forward by the front of his shirt, then shoved into the cushions behind him as he was straddled, Draco’s soft, plump lips pressing firmly against his own. He hummed his approval of the greeting as he tossed the Quidditch magazine he’d been thumbing through aside, then snaked one arm around that slender waist, the opposite hand coming to rest at the juncture between Draco’s thigh and the lower curve of his backside.

“Bad day?”

“McLaggen is a hippogriff’s arse.”

“Can’t disagree there.”

Draco sighed contentedly into another heated kiss, his arms sliding around his lover’s neck in order to pull himself closer still. Of course, Ron would’ve had to have been blind and deaf not to recognize where this was headed, and while that was all well and good, he needed to stay on track. Even if what the blonde was offering sounded far more enticing…

“Mmph, wait, wait,” he tried to ignore Draco’s needy little whine as he gently pried him off, “I, uh...wanted to show you that thing I mentioned.”

The blonde scoffed, disbelief evident as he glanced down at their bodies pressed together. “Really? Right now?”

“Yeah, c’mon.”

Eventually, he convinced Draco to shift onto the space beside him--albeit with a great deal of grumbling. Once he was settled, Ron retrieved the item that had been not-so-discreetly waiting on the coffee table and turned to face him. With a gesture from him, Draco rolled his eyes, but offered his palm and accepted it, only to then shift his quizzical gaze from Ron to the old-fashioned watch he was now holding. It had a silver backing, and its leather strap was worn from overuse. Definitely not the kind Draco would’ve normally sported--he was much more of the gold Rolex type--but that wasn’t really the point.

“This was my grandfather’s,” Ron said after a moment, and Draco looked at him again, his brow furrowing. “He gave it to me right before he died, and--”

“I know, you’ve told me this before. You wear this all the time, why are you giving it to me?”

“Because…Because it means a lot to me. And now _you_ mean a lot to me.” Merlin, that was hard to say. It was even harder to watch the way Draco’s eyes widened. “So I want you to have it. As a...I don’t know, I guess as a token of our...of _this_.”

Was the message getting across? By the crease in his forehead as he stared down at the watch in his hand, it didn’t seem so. But c’mon, he was _way_ more of a pureblood than Ron was! Hadn’t his parents ever explained these customs to him? Then he saw it, however: that gleam in those storm-colored eyes as he glanced up, that quirk of a grin at one corner of his mouth. Okay, he got it, then--at least in _some_ capacity.

After a beat, the blonde was quick to shuck the fancy watch he’d been wearing originally, replacing it with the older one. He turned his wrist in front of him for a moment or two, admiring it against his skin. The sight of it kind of stoked the embers in Ron’s heart a bit, and he found himself caught off guard long enough for his lover to slip back onto his lap with little resistance.

“I think,” the roll of Draco’s hips, his fingers threading through ginger hair, had Ron’s breath sticking in his throat, “traditionally, I’m supposed to give you something back. But as I have nothing of the sort on me at the moment, then perhaps we should go upstairs, so I can...thank you properly?”

That was to be expected. Draco Malfoy had never been one to deal with emotional scenes all that well. Nor had Ron, so he was somewhat grateful for the little minxes’ diversions at times like these. However, it _did_ , in this case, prevent him from actually asking what he’d wanted to. But it was a start, he supposed.


	3. Nifflers Are A Man's Best Friend?

Draco should’ve known better than to give Ron a key to his flat. Of course, he’d only done it after two years of having one of his own to Ron’s place and a _lot_ of persuading, but really, the former Gryffindor didn’t blame him for being unsure about it at first. He’d probably assumed he would do something to, well, fuck with him. And rightly so, it seemed.

The redhead himself was grinning from ear to ear when he walked up to his lover’s door that particular evening. Tonight’s plan had been based off of one the _most ridiculous_ traditions in the book, in his opinion. He honestly couldn’t believe that such a thing used to be a sign of affection in their culture--that there had once been a time when a person might swoon over this kind of display. It didn’t seem all that romantic to _him_ , but to each their own, he guessed. And Draco would most likely just think he was a dork and leave it at that.

Those thoughts were immediately wiped from his head, however, as soon as he stepped inside. The first thing he heard was an incoherent shout from Draco down the hall, followed by the blast of a spell hitting a wall, causing the ones around him there in the living room to shake precariously. A million different possible reasons for the commotion forced Ron to quickly withdraw his wand, body suddenly poised like that of a former Auror.

Another crash, and something small and furry scampered through the room like lightening, disappearing again at the opposite side, behind one of the couches. Seconds later, a pale blur came skidding into the room like a madman, bare feet slipping on the hardwood floor. His hair was a mess, and appeared damp, in addition to his clothing being mismatched and clearly just thrown on, like he’d come from the shower not long ago. Ron did his best to push that tantalizing image out of his mind as said blonde spun in place, eyes wild, wand waving about in his firm grip as he frantically searched for something…

 _Then_ it occurred to him.

“Oh shit,” he exclaimed, feeling his heart rate rise at the realization, “did they get out?!”

Draco turned on him like the crack of a whip, eyes bulging as if he’d only just realized Ron was there, and asked in a biting tone, “What? You mean… _you_ brought those things in here?!”

Guilty didn’t even _begin_ to describe it. When Ron had snuck that cage of nifflers into Draco’s apartment earlier in the day, it hadn’t occurred to him that they might...escape and attempt to wreck the place? In hindsight, it should’ve. It really should’ve. As they scrambled to wrangle them, he remembered what Hagrid had told them back in Care of Magical Creatures, and he realized how truly stupid this idea had been. Once again, he was baffled at how this had ever been an endearing gesture in the first place. _This_ was probably the very reason why the practise had died out.

It took another hour just to catch them. Ron had the distinct feeling that he’d never been this physical--not even as an Auror trainee, or during all those times he’d had to run for his life. Catching these buggers really was _brutal_. The first two were eventually found under the bed, huddled together, whiskers quivering. Ron certainly empathized with them; Draco was out for blood on this one, and had been shooting hexes about the place for several minutes before that. Of course, Ron had also discovered during the course of it that they _had_ , in fact, interrupted him in the shower--in a very, er...inappropriate way--and he honestly couldn’t say that he would’ve treated the situation any differently had it been him. The third, and final, one had sequestered itself under the sink in the kitchen. Ron had had to crawl in after him, and the result had been a few burning scratches to the face and a nasty bite on his left forefinger. They were both rather worse for wear in the end.

When all was said and done, Draco was thrusting the cage into Ron’s hands and forcibly pushing him towards the exit, clearly in no mood for the remainder of the time they’d intended to spend together tonight. “What the hell was that even about?! Bloody things could’ve killed me, not to mention all the things I’ll have to repair now!” he was ranting in a murderous rumble, and Ron felt that swell of regret in his chest for about the thousandth time that evening.

How could he explain it to him? Now was _definitely_ not the time to say it had been a sort of proposal, that he was just having a laugh. He might not have balls by the end of _that_ conversation, and he was rather attached to them. No, he couldn’t tell him that, apparently, wizards in the “olden days” used to present nifflers to their potential betrothed. According to the book his mother had given him, since the creatures were so obsessed with shiny objects--typically jewelry--they were supposed to represent...it hadn’t been entirely clear, but something about the wizard being able to provide his mate with riches, something like that. A sign of devotion, in that way. Of course, he hadn’t counted on them being so crafty, but again, he should’ve. There was a reason why no one kept them as pets anymore. He’d been pleasantly surprised to actually find a menagerie that had them in stock, and he’d planned on gifting them to Hagrid afterwards. No one else would’ve taken the hardships that came with raising them in such stride. Now he just had to hope that his next couple schemes would come across better than this one…

“I was just…” Ron floundered, pausing in the doorway to turn back to a fuming Draco, trying his best to come up with something, _anything_ , to explain away why he’d done this. “It’s just...You said...You said you’d never had any pets as a child. I don’t know, I just thought I’d...get you some? It was supposed to be a surprise. I was being...spontaneous. I’m sorry.”

That was the lamest excuse he could’ve ever come up with, and he could tell by Draco’s expression that he knew it, too. But the blonde closed his eyes, huffing a breath out his nostrils as he attempted to calm himself, and replied evenly, “Well, the next time it occurs to you to get me something ‘spontaneous,’ how about you _don’t_?”

Touche, Mr. Malfoy. It was simply too bad, wasn’t it, that Ron had already arranged just such a thing for Wednesday as well.


	4. Shower Him In Moly

“RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!”

The shout of his full name carried so well over the clamour of the shop--and struck such immediate and intense fear for his life in his heart--that Ron would’ve attributed it to his own mother, or maybe even his sister, had it not clearly been a male voice. Regardless, he jumped to straighten himself, like a child caught digging in the dirt out back after he’d been expressly told not to. A hard habit to break, unfortunately. The pair of ladies he’d been assisting at the “love potions” stand were just as startled, turning as he did to try to find the source.

It was soon discovered to be a snarling, disheveled Draco, standing a step inside the entryway with his fists clenching at his sides. The sight of him would’ve been quite comical, actually, if he wasn’t so obviously furious. He was flushed from his neck to his hairline, and Ron felt like there should’ve been steam pouring out his ears. He’d forgone the blazer he usually wore, his tie hung loose around his neck, and the sleeves of his button-up were rolled past his elbows. He must’ve been in a real hurry to get here, if he’d gone out like that; he rarely ever allowed the scar that had once been the Mark to show when he was dressed for work. An elderly couple--who’d been checking out the pygmy puffs to his right with their grandchildren--were already glancing at it with mounting apprehension. All of this, however, was normal Malfoy-on-a-rampage behavior, that Ron had had the pleasure of witnessing time and time again. The really eye-catching part, in this particular instance, was the smattering of flowers strewn across his person, sticking out of his hair, his trouser pockets, from under the collar of his shirt...

He would’ve much rather stayed with his guests--which was saying something, considering his past experience with the very product they were shopping for. Much as he still hated the damn things, Valentine’s Day was fast approaching, and thus there was no way of avoiding them; they were some of the most popular in their inventory during this time of year. Luckily, they’d made some alterations to the recipe over time, and thus they weren’t as powerful and will-erasing as they were back when he was a teen. But Draco looked like he might just be inclined to remind this entire store that he was once a Death Eater, and thus Ron wasn’t about to take any chances. He was over there, hastily parting the throng between them, after merely a second’s hesitation.

“Hey, what’s--?”

“Don’t you ‘ _hey_ ’ me, Weasley! What the fuck do you think you were doing?!”

It was even worse than he’d thought. Draco only ever reverted to calling him by his last name when he was _beyond_ brassed. Several of the patrons with kids near them were noticeably bristling at his word choice, and so Ron made an executive decision to stop this before it went too far: he took the feisty blonde by the arm and dragged him through the crowd of onlookers to the administrative offices through the door at the back, slamming it shut behind them.

Okay, the whole niffler thing had been a mistake, he could openly admit that. But he hadn’t exactly been expecting this kind of reaction to today’s plan. Sure, filling a person’s office to the brim with moly flowers wasn’t necessarily the best show of affection around, but it was relatively harmless in comparison to this last attempt, wasn’t it? He hoped so, anyway, since it wasn’t actually him who’d followed through with it this time. No, smuggling a bunch of plants into the Ministry had required inside help: he’d had to finally reveal his scheme to Harry and Hermione. In order to accomplish such a task, he was positive they’d told others as well--in fact, he was pretty sure the only person who _didn’t_ know about the true nature of his plans right now was Draco himself. But they’d been shockingly delighted and supportive when he’d explained it to them, and he couldn’t have been more thankful for that.

Once they were on the other side of the shelves separating Ron’s desk from his elder brother’s, Draco started in on him again. “You want to explain to me what the _fuck_ this is?!” he exclaimed, tearing a tell-tale black-stemmed plant from his hair and shoving it under his counterpart’s nose.

“It’s moly, Draco, I--”

“I bloody well know it’s _moly_ , Weasley, I’d like to you to explain to me what the hell a _sea_ of these fucking things was doing in my office this morning!”

What they were doing in there was exactly what Ron, once again, found he didn’t know how to explain to him. With the rage written all over his lover’s face, the fact that wizards had, once upon a time, presented those flowers to their fiancées probably wouldn’t matter to him. Draco probably wouldn’t care to know, either, that because of moly’s inherent protective properties, its usefulness in warding against dark enchantments, it was seen at the time as a sign that the gentleman would shield his new spouse from all the evils of the wizarding world. Ron might’ve even needed that kind of protection from his would-be fiancée right this moment.

“I remembered you’d said you liked them--”

“So you decided it’d be nice to have a truckful of them explode inside my office--?!”

“I know, I’m sorry, but you can’t just come in here like--”

“Oh, so _you_ can disturb _my_ work, but I can’t? Is that right?”

“No! No, I just...We’re really slammed right now, it’s the season, you know? And--”

“And you think I’m not?! You think I don’t have shit I need to be doing, besides spending half the morning ridding my office of your sodding flowers?! And just when I thought I’d finally gotten them all, they’re in my filing cabinets, my desk, my--”

Wow, all of that? They’d certainly outdone themselves. He couldn’t say that he wasn’t proud--flattered, touched, even, that they’d go to such lengths to aid him in his endeavour. He owed everyone involved a round of pints, at the very least, when this whole thing was finally over.

“ _I remembered you’d said you liked them_ , once,” he repeated firmly, and Draco finally paused to catch his breath long enough to allow him to finish the thought: “I’ve been trying to, I don’t know...do nice things for you more often, I know we’d talked about that before, and I asked Harry and Hermione to help me, and...I don’t know, I guess they might’ve gone too far, but trust me when I say they meant well, _we_ meant well. I’m sorry, I’m...sorry. If you’d like me to come by later, help you finish cleaning up, I’d be happy to. It’s my fault, after all.”

It was no better of an excuse than the last time, he knew that. Problem was, now that he was so deep in it, he kind of wanted to see out the remainder of his plans before the Big Reveal. Especially since Draco was making it so damn easy for him by seemingly _not_ having as vast a knowledge of pureblood customs as Ron had originally expected him to. All he had to do was hold out for a _little bit longer_ , just till the last leg. It was going to be a grand gesture, Ron had been getting ready for it. He knew Malfoys loved grand gestures, loved being the center of attention. It might not have been _exactly_ what Draco had always been dreaming of for a proposal, but it was going to be amazing, and he was going to appreciate it in the end. Or, at least, Ron still hoped so. Now, watching him huffing away the remnants of his anger, he wasn’t so sure about it anymore...Maybe it was worth cancelling the whole thing and coming clean right now...

“That’s--it’s fine, I’ve got it under control, I just…” Draco ran his hands through his hair, trying to smooth it all back and brush out the last few flowers, trying desperately to make sense of all of this. “I mean, _honestly_! With those damn… _rodents_ last week, and now the flowers, I...What the fuck _is_ all of this, what are you trying to do?”

Then, suddenly, the door to the office opened, and George’s booming tone drifted in over the influx of noise from the shop: “Oi, Ron! If you’re done snogging your boyfriend, I could really use your help up here!”

Said Weasley tried his best not to let his mood sour too quickly when he saw the way Draco grimaced at the title. Pushing that reaction aside, Ron stepped closer, feeling safe enough to test those waters for the first time since they’d come back here, and gently laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. Draco pulled another face, but didn’t turn away, merely crossed his arms petulantly over his chest, and that spoke volumes in Malfoy language: he was still mad, but he accepted that there’d been good intentions behind the offense. And that very act helped squash Ron’s misgivings about following through with the rest; he’d come this far, he was going to finish it, Godric help him.

“I’m sorry, I should really get back up there. And look, don’t worry about it, I was just...I was trying to do something nice, and I got a bit carried away, that’s all.” Draco begrudgingly accepted Ron’s kiss to his cheek, clearly not at all pleased with his answer--or lack thereof. “We’re still on for Saturday, yeah? We’ll go to dinner, or have a quiet night in, whatever you want. I promise, no more crazy shit that night, okay?”

He did mean that, he really did. Of course, Saturday evening might not come, because Ron already had plans for Friday afternoon that Draco couldn’t have possibly guessed about, and he wasn’t exactly positive he’d have a happy “boyfriend” anymore when all was said and done...


	5. Shout Your Love In The Streets

Ron was determined to make this one work. It was the last in his list of plans before, well, doing the “normal” down-on-one-knee thing, and thus his last ditch attempt to get Draco to see that this was all just a bit of playful subterfuge before he laid bare his soul at the blonde’s feet. Somehow, he was fairly certain he wouldn’t get the answer he was looking for if he didn’t help him realize that before the time came. Thankfully, they’d exchanged a few letters since the incident on Tuesday, the contents of which had led Ron to believe that Draco was letting any grudge he might’ve held over it go in record Malfoy time.

It was a blissfully sunny afternoon--a glorious change from the blizzards they’d had of late--and that provided him at least a modicum of hope. He’d convinced Harry to join him, in case everything backfired again. He would take all the help he could get if he ended up getting arrested in the process--or if his partner needed to be restrained. But no, he was confident that wouldn’t happen this time. The plan he had for today could not have possibly been interpreted as anything other than what it was: an old-fashioned proposal. And as he was secure in that assumption, he was going into this with a smile and a skip in his step. Or at least he was trying to.

They’d found Draco right where they’d expected to. Ron knew well that he often took a long lunch on Fridays, to go to a cafe he liked in Diagon, and then to wander around the shops. He was just coming out of Quality Quidditch Supplies when they walked up, Acheson (one of the junior associates in his department) at his side. Despite Draco having several years on him--he was a boy still, honestly, barely out of Hogwarts--they’d gotten on quite well since he was hired, and the brunette often joined his fellow Slytherin on his Friday luncheons. It was Harry, the saint, who’d talked the lad into getting in on their plans for today; he’d agreed to it gladly, from what Ron had been told. Everything was working out pretty perfectly, despite the few prior hiccups.

Which was why Acheson was forced to stifle a grin when he caught Ron approaching them out of the corner of his eye. The redhead winked in return before Draco turned to him, startled for a moment by his presence.

“Ron! Hey, what are you doing here? Out for lunch?”

“You!” he declared before Draco could continue, pointing accusingly at the young man between them. “Back off! He’s spoken for!”

Draco furrowed his brow, glancing confusedly at each of them. “I...Ron, what are you--?”

“Is he now?” Acheson retorted, but not without a hint of a chuckle under the act of provocation.

Of course, Ron knew very well that Draco wasn’t doing anything with this bloke. He’d made it clear many times before, when talking about their outings, that he simply wasn’t his type. Although, he’d suspected Draco might’ve gone for it anyway, had Ron not been in his life--and, well, he’d always been the jealous type. Once he’d met the kid, though, at one of the Ministry functions Draco had dragged him to, he’d realized there was no chemistry between them whatsoever. That fact only served to make this whole scene that much more hilarious to him.

“Yes, he is, and I suggest you find another to cast your unwanted affections on!”

“Oh? And what if I think he likes me better, old man?”

Oh, this kid was good. This was working out better than Ron had thought already, even if Draco looked more perplexed and concerned than he’d ever seen him. The redhead felt rather silly with his outdated lines, Acheson’s were great.

“Then I challenge you to a duel for his honor! We’ll see who’s more deserving of his hand!”

He thought he heard Harry spluttering, muffling laughter into his hands behind him, but it was mostly drowned out by the chatter that had risen up as well. They’d already garnered quite the crowd around them. Of course, in this setting, Ron had counted on having an audience, but it didn’t prevent the nerves from bubbling up in his gut.

“You’re on!”

Their wands were out in seconds, but Ron was quicker and was the first to get off a shot. After all his training in the DMLE, he’d have been mortified if that hadn’t been the case. Acheson dodged the _Expelliarmus_ with ease, which was fine, Ron hadn’t really been aiming for him anyway. He shouted his own spell back, and the redhead, in turn, jumped out of harm’s way.

They carried on thusly for several minutes, taking care not to slip on the lingering patches of ice from the last storm as best they could. A kind of circle formed around them, the crowd wavering between worry and amusement. They attempted to keep the atmosphere as light as possible by continuing their ridiculous, semi-rehearsed banter throughout, and that appeared to placate the others. Lots of “You don’t stand a chance!” and “Just give up, you know he wants me more!” The jinxes they cast were all relatively innocent, ones meant to prevent the other from moving, rather than actually hurting them. Harry had made this very clear to Acheson during their initial discussions, and of course the kid had agreed. They weren’t intending for this to be a bloodbath.

However, Acheson wasn’t necessarily as well-trained as Ron, and that became apparent after only a short while. It was when the sparks of a Jelly-Legs burst against the store sign directly over his head that Ron decided it was about time to put this to rest, and he gave his opponent the pre-agreed-upon signal. The boy nodded his understanding, and, on their next turn around the circle, he took the Body-Bind that came with grace. His whole form locked up, freezing the little smirk he’d been attempting to hide on his lips, and he dropped like a ton of bricks onto the cobblestones. Ron winced to himself, hoping he hadn’t ended up banging his skull.

Ron was surprised by the clapping and cheering that accompanied him as he wiped the sweat from his brow and pumped his arms over his head in triumph. However, the victory was short lived, as a team of Aurors popped into existence on the street, blocking all possible exits and rushing to disarm him. The only thing that saved him in that moment was Harry’s insistence of “Wait, wait, he’s with me!” as he ran up to them--that, and at least a couple of them recognized Ron from his old post. It took a great deal of explaining on his part--and on Acheson’s, once they’d revived him--to get them out of trouble. Luckily, this particular group had a sense of humor.

With all the fuss, Ron hadn’t had a chance to check on Draco, to see what his reaction had been and to finally let him in on everything that had been going on as of late. While Harry was assisting his coworkers in clearing the crowd, he searched over the rest, finally spotting that familiar blonde head down the way. Only...He stopped in his tracks before he could reach him. The way the Slytherin was looking back at him, it was...terrifying, actually. Were Draco angry, Ron would’ve been able to tell, by the shaking of his hands and the fire practically bursting forth from his mouth. He’d always been hot-tempered, it was actually one of many things Ron liked about him. But right now, he was just...staring. His lips drawn in a thin line, his eyes dark like thunderclouds. Then, without any gesture towards him whatsoever, he turned on his heel and stalked away as fast as his legs could carry him.

Oh shit. He’d really done it this time...


	6. (And When All Else Fails) Do It the Right Way

Apparently Ron had grossly underestimated Draco’s penchant for staying angry. Considering he’d been the very instigator for many of the blonde’s frustrations going on nearly twenty years, he probably should’ve guessed this would happen, but still. It had taken him an entire week of begging and pleading to get Draco to agree to meeting him today. In fact, it had taken the whole week just to get him to answer a damn owl. It had been no surprise whatsoever that he’d chosen a park in a Muggle neighborhood; Ron couldn’t make any more ridiculous outbursts with a bunch of non-magical folks around.

The redhead sat on a bench, flurries drifting around him, waiting, hunched over and wringing his hands in front of him. It was already ten past, and he was pretty sure Draco wasn’t showing up; it wasn’t like him to be late to anything. That was it. He couldn’t believe he’d actually gone that far, fucked up that badly. After years of struggling to reach the level they were at now, he’d lost it all, with just a couple weeks of idiotic plans.

Just when he was about to give up, however, he heard the crunching of fresh snow approaching. Draco’s booted feet stopped about a meter away, and Ron looked up to see him glaring down at him, hands shoved deep into his pockets. For how furious he clearly was, he looked stunning in that black peacoat Ron loved, with the silver fastenings. He also noticed that he was wearing the Slytherin-colored scarf the Weasley matriarch had knit for him a couple Christmases back, and her son desperately clung to the hope that that was a good sign of some kind.

“Hey--” he started, quickly rising to his feet, but Draco’s harsh tone cut him off.

“What do you want?”

“I--”

“You asked me here, now tell me what you want, and be done with it.”

Ron paused then, unsure of what to say. Everything he’d thought of previously, to express his regrets, to beg forgiveness: it all flew out of his head in an instant. Those piercing, gray eyes were staring straight into his soul, and he knew there was nothing else he _could_ say:

“I want to apologize.” The statement hung between them for a beat before Draco scoffed and replied:

“And?”

“And…” And _what_? That he’d been an idiot? That he’d taken things too far? Of course, all of that was true, but he also knew Draco wouldn’t take it on its face. He needed to explain _why_. But he’d never been good with words, and with the blonde narrowing his eyes at him the way he was, it was becoming difficult to think. “And...What happened last week. I wanted to explain that. It was...It was part of this whole big… _thing_ that’s been happening, and I’m sorry I didn’t let you in on the joke, but it would’ve ruined every--”

“The _joke_?” Draco nearly spat back, almost jumping out of the way when Ron tried to soothe him by reaching out a hand. “You consider all the mad things you’ve been doing a _joke_?!”

“No, not that, that’s not the right word...Last week,” he tried again, attempting to stay on course as much as possible, “what happened, it was, you know...I don’t know if you remember this, but I started to say it a few months ago, about how we’ve been doing this for a long time.” Draco appeared to be softening at the memory, and that gave Ron the courage to carry on: “And I think it’s time we...took it to the next level. I was doing it the old fashioned way. Like how they used to fight for their partner’s honor? I thought you’d think it was...I don’t know, funny, or something, I didn’t think--”

“I know what you were doing!” he shouted suddenly, causing a pair of businessmen passing by to first look at them, then quickly hurry away. “I know _exactly_ what you were doing, I’m not stupid! The point is, you...you _humiliated_ me, Ronald.”

He saw it then, the hurt in Draco’s eyes, behind the mask of frustration he’d been showing him. And it broke his heart. He was ashamed to know that he’d caused him that pain. When they were young, it was one thing, but the man meant so much more to him now, he’d never intended to treat him that way. This had all been for fun, he’d never meant for it to get to this place...

“You humiliated me,” he repeated, his voice breaking for a second in a way that would’ve made Ron want to reach out to him again, were he not sure he’d have his hand hexed off if he tried. “Can’t you see that? Just...just _stop_. I’m done, okay? This, whatever this was, I’m done. I’ve had enough.”

And there went his last chance, fading fast with every determined step as Draco turned and began to leave. Panic surged through his veins. He had to do something; he’d come here to make this right! And the only thing he could think of in that moment was--

“Draco, wait--!”

“No! That display you put on last week was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, and if you think for even a second that I’ll _ever_ want to be seen with you again, you have another--”

He stopped then, the remainder of that sentence dying in his throat with a small, strangled gasp as his eyes widened and shifted quickly downwards. Ron smiled sheepishly up at him from his position on the ground, a blue, velvet box open in his outstretched hands. Inside rested a black titanium band, three mini emeralds set into the top. There was a matching one in his breast pocket, with rubies instead. Because he was sentimental and corny like that. He was sure his partner would spend the rest of their lives ragging on him for it, too, if he ever got an answer out of him. He’d bought them both about a month ago, and had brought them today in the hopes that he’d still be able to fix this.

“The fuck is that?” Draco finally settled on, after what appeared to be a great internal war over the situation, and the other stifled a nervous chuckle.

“I believe it’s a wedding band, Draco.”

He stuttered for a moment, only able to get out a feeble: “B-but...I…”

Speechless was definitely a good look on the blonde. Ron didn’t think he’d ever seen the likes of it. But then his heart was clenching again when he saw that hand cover his mouth, that first tear dripping from his lower lashes...Now _that_ he knew he’d seen on only the rarest of occasions. Draco wasn’t the type to cry in public, and especially not over something like this. Ron could feel the beginnings of his own tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. If that blush he knew so well was anything to go on, these were happy ones on Draco’s part.

The silence stretched on for longer than he’d anticipated. The Muggles were starting to eavesdrop, one by one, seemingly as interested in the answer as Ron was. A wet spot from the melting flakes was spreading across the trouser leg of his bent knee. He was beginning to think that Draco was going to leave him down there all afternoon, when he finally choked out, emotion coating his voice:

“Merlin! The watch, the moly...It was all for this, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was,” Ron chuckled again, feeling his spirits lift as he watched the realization spread across Draco’s face. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell you. It would’ve ruined it.”

Another fresh river of tears poured over his cheeks. Then: “W-well, give it here already, will you!”

His anxious grin broadening significantly, Ron got back to his feet as quickly as possible, catching himself when he slipped for a brief second in his excitement. Was this it?! Was he really accepting this? He definitely got his answer when Draco suddenly grabbed for the box, fumbling with the ring inside, before Ron stopped him and took it out himself, poising to place it on the ring finger his lover was extending towards him. Draco’s sleeve rolled up a bit as he did so, and Ron nearly lost it when he caught sight of the worn-out watch around his slender wrist.

“Are you...So you’re saying yes, right?”

“Of course I’m saying yes, you ass!”

Ron had heard so many people describe this, but he hadn’t realized just what it meant until he was doing it himself: sliding that band past Draco’s knuckle was one of the happiest moments of his entire life. Nothing had ever meant more than that look his boyfriend--his _fiancée_ was giving him when he did it. Like he, too, had recognized the same things in their relationship and had been waiting for the opportune time, just as Ron had. But he’d nearly lost him, he knew that, and he was going to keep that in mind for the years to come. He vowed to never get that close again.

“Even with everything I did, you’re still saying yes?”

“Of course I am!” That typical Malfoy haughtiness returned, that teasing smirk, and Ron could’ve taken him right then and there just for that. He’d never thought he’d miss it, till it was gone. “You went to so much effort, I don’t believe you gave me much choice in the matter.”

Ron thought of it, thought of better of it, then decided on it again. Fuck it, they were going to be _married_ , there was no reason to skirt around the subject anymore. “And because you love me, too, right?” he asked cheekily, unable to help the waggle of his eyebrows as he wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and drew him in.

Even for the derisive snort, a smile like the sun emerging from behind a raincloud lit his features. “Shut up,” he muttered, before slinging his own arms around Ron’s neck and pulling him into a teary, breath-stealing kiss.

Well, that was probably the closest to such an admission that he was ever going to get. And he would take it, because as they laughed and kissed in the falling snow, he realized yet another amazing thing about Draco Malfoy: that after everything he’d done over the past couple weeks had backfired so spectacularly, he was _still there_. Still happy to accept this final offer and let all be forgiven. Ron was beginning to suspect, now, that perhaps--for all the crazy things they’d experienced together throughout their lives--Draco wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world, either.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments = <3!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://ohlookagaydraco.tumblr.com/) and [LJ](http://fangqueen.livejournal.com/) as well!


End file.
